Around 7:30 this morning we heard the clattering of cowbell coming from the mountain behind our house. We looked up to find a man, around 70-years-old, herding sheep down the cliff in an adept manner that brought to mind Heidi‘s grandfather working the Swiss Alps.
Many times I have compared teaching elementary-aged children to herding sheep so I was eagerly taking notes on his techniques for keeping stray members in line. Ten minutes after we spotted his hillside descent, the cowbell sounds grew riotous and I realized the sheep were running down the street on our block. I was immediately intrigued.
Bogdan and I resolved to follow the sheep’s commute and as soon as I got out of camp today we trekked up to the mountain peak. The route was clearly untrodden and there was no path so we made our way through rocks and thickets of thorn bushes that Big Bog deemed, “The Napoli Slashers”. Luckily our housedog — who Bogdan nicknamed “Jo Mama” — came along and guided us much of the way. Our legs were bleeding and our bodies sweating by the time we made it to the top but it was worth all the work. Seeing the stunning, rare view of Salerno reminded me exactly why I quit my job and chose to live abroad instead of popping through as a tourist.